


Ornithology

by flickerthenflare



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickerthenflare/pseuds/flickerthenflare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is not the cat who got the canary. Or the cat who got the warbler. The bird analogies are too obvious but they come anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ornithology

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for brief mention of cancer and allusions to depression.

Burt first puts the comparison in Kurt’s mind. Kurt comes home from one of his first dinners out with Blaine and Burt doesn’t know exactly what Kurt has been up to – isn’t _ready_ to know yet – but he comments on Kurt floating through the door instead of carrying the weight of the world with, “Don’t you look like the cat who got the canary.”

“Warbler,” Kurt corrects, although that’s not actually the part of Burt’s statement that isn’t quite right. Kurt counts on not making sense to his father consistently enough to not be questioned further. He skips off to sigh over Blaine’s dreamy school yearbook photo in private.

It’s not quite right, the cat and the canary. Kurt doesn’t want to feel that predatory. Never again. He wants, absolutely, but most of all, he wants to be wanted back.

Kurt kicks his feet up and admires the likeness of the handsome boy who is kind and beloved by his peers and pays attention to Kurt anyway. The satisfaction in the expression fits. Getting something that feels innate for him to go after. He and Blaine may not be official yet, but they have something, and Kurt is all the more smug for it.

When Kurt arrives at Dalton, Blaine offers advice like a fledgling motivational speaker – sincerely but not as assured of what he says as a seasoned pro – and he is hardly subtle in his warbler-in-a-cage metaphor. Kurt is the bird. Dalton is the nice new cage. He’s safe in his confines. He’ll stay safe as long as he doesn’t go outside. Maybe he can get used to the bars. It’s all very heavy-handed.

"Open the door if you don't believe me,” Blaine says, kind as ever when Kurt is still looking forlorn at Pavarotti hopping around his cage. “He won't make a break for it. He doesn't want out. He likes everything that's in there with him. The outside world is overwhelming for this little guy. He’s _happy_ to be in a cage. It’s his sanctuary." 

Kurt hesitates for a moment, weighing his curiosity against offending his new friend. "Is this a metaphor again, or actually true?"

“It’s true either way.” Blaine laughs without any of Kurt’s hesitation. He has the most infectious laugh. “I promise he’s happy. He’s not singing right now because he’s adjusting. You’ll hear him soon.”

Blaine adores Pavarotti and frequently checks in on how Kurt is caring for him, so Dalton is an adjustment but it’s not all bad. Blaine grins so proudly when he whistles and Pavarotti responds. They spend an afternoon mimicking each other’s delighted trills as proof that Pavarotti has adjusted to Kurt’s care and he is as happy as Blaine says. Kurt’s jealousy twinges. He and Blaine aren’t that in sync with their songs yet, if “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” is any indication. Kurt needs to go outside and stop thinking like he's a metaphorical bird before Blaine coos over how adorable Pavarotti is in his bird bath. Not everything needs to be a bird metaphor.

But Blaine wears that uniform every day, even when he doesn’t need to. The bright red piping on his blazer carries Dalton with him wherever he goes, from the Lima Bean to the Gap, like the little travel-cage Kurt has for Pavarotti with its Burburry-esque cover. All the winking and smirking and polite flattery let Blaine's discomfort in the wide, wild world pass unnoticed. Between that and the songs, it’s hard to believe he’s ever afraid, which is why it takes Kurt a while to piece together it’s not just about him; the cage is for Blaine too. Blaine may sing happily, but a dark glare at the past life that landed him here gives him away. So does the deep breath Blaine takes like he’s about to go onstage and perform when he has to leave Dalton's campus.

“Maybe Dalton was only meant to be a wildlife refuge,” Kurt says when Blaine looks sad but pretends he doesn’t at Kurt’s announcement that he’s leaving Dalton. Kurt expects to crack a smile with the callback to Blaine’s earlier pep talks and forges on when all he receives is a confused look to accompany the sad one. “You know, the kind where they release you back into the wild when you’re healed?”

“And I’m what, a pet?” It’s mostly a joke. Blaine’s fingers twist into the hem of his own blazer.

“Slightly less feral,” Kurt teases back.

“Slightly more broken.” Blaine pulls himself together. His eyes shine. “I’m happy for you.”

Kurt is newly grateful for kissing to say what he means when words fail. He kisses Blaine, but not goodbye.

Kurt intends to leave all talk of birds behind at Dalton, other than occasionally teasing Blaine about his adoring flock. But he doesn't leave Blaine at Dalton, and where Blaine goes, bird analogies follow. 

“Do you say ‘cat who got the cream’ or ‘cat who got the canary’?” Blaine asks over iced coffee on an otherwise inconsequential summer day. He asks like it’s normal small talk that is not at all related to the change in Kurt’s features when Blaine’s bare ankle bumps his calf.

“I’ve heard I have that look before either way.” Kurt supposes he looks smug at the moment. He has a boyfriend for the first time in his life and he is having an excellent summer. Kurt dips his fingers in the whipped cream atop his mocha and licks it off.

Blaine suddenly has to look anywhere but at Kurt. “You don’t like it when people say that about you?”

No, he doesn’t want to consume Blaine. To swallow him up. It all sounds so oddly sexual in Kurt’s mind and he blushes. He doesn’t want to be the cat to Blaine’s canary, where catching him does him harm.

“Let’s be lovebirds instead.” It sounds safer for all parties involved. They can be the same.

It’s Blaine’s turn to look pleased.

Kurt thinks of canaries and cream when Blaine’s nose bumps against his and they lie atop Blaine’s comforter. Kurt keeps touching his lips. He got both. He doesn’t bother to blush this time. He swallows.

With his face half-buried in a downy pillow, Blaine reaches out as well. Kurt kisses the pads of fingers that brush against his lips.

Kurt needs a better way to describe this. Some other way to name getting what he has always wanted. Some way to describe the deep level of satisfaction for the little noises Blaine makes – noises Kurt pulls out of him - of hearing Blaine’s heart flutter when Kurt lays his head over it. Maybe just 'a dream come true.' 

Blaine brings cheer to the halls of McKinley that had darkened around Kurt the year before. Everything about Blaine shines bright. He stands out without a flock of identically dressed warblers behind him and embraces the part in how he dresses. Blaine’s other adjustments to his new surroundings range from polite bafflement to the darker frustration previously reserved for talking about how he ended up at Dalton. He keeps on singing, even without backup.

Still, Blaine traded a small sanctuary for a zoo. It's captivity either way. And it takes its toll.

Before he was tasked with caring for Pavarotti, Kurt knew two things about canaries: the thing about the cat, and that their delicate lungs are so susceptible to poison in the air. Blaine hits the ground when the Warblers corrupt his sanctuary. For a long while after that, it seems like Blaine is catching his breath. No matter how many times Kurt asks Blaine if he’s okay, it’s hard to tell if he actually is. He keeps on singing and smiling. The songs get a little sadder. "Come What May" is _their_ song, but Kurt also catches Blaine singing "One Day I'll Fly Away" to himself when Kurt returns from his popcorn and bathroom break in their _Moulin Rouge_ rewatch.

"I always thought of that as more my song than yours." Kurt knows what he would fly away from. He doesn't think of Blaine yearning to get away like that. Everyone adores Blaine right where he is – why would he want to leave?

"You can have it," Blaine says with a smile. What _wouldn't_ he give to Kurt? Blaine scoops up a handle of popcorn and pops one kernel into his mouth, transforming from sad to cheeky with one munch. "You're the one who's flying away."

"You will too, eventually. It’ll be you and me and our grand, cosmopolitan life I’ve taken the liberty to painstakingly plan out for us." ~~~~

"One day." The longing lingers around his eyes. Blaine can't follow him as easily this time. Wanting to be together isn’t enough to make it so. Blaine’s eyes settle on the remote. “Can we finish this another day? I want a happier ending than where this is headed.”

Kurt turns off the movie without a second glance. He uses the interruption-free spring afternoon to kiss Blaine to distraction instead. They accidentally kick the popcorn to the floor. Kernels skip and scatter everywhere. They briefly forget their concerns holding onto each other. For the moment, they have each other, and they settle into that comfort.

When Blaine starts feeling like he can’t breathe next, there is trouble in the air. Kurt doesn’t notice until it’s too late, and then Blaine is _gone_ and Kurt isn’t even sure he wants him back.

Quiet moments are the hardest. Ambien-induced nonsense and memories take hold of Kurt on a noisy, crisp New York night. They have him tossing and turning to memories of conversations with Blaine.

_"Do you think the hairspray did him in?" Kurt asks. They pick their way over rocks and mud to the path that leads from Dalton to the secluded spot they picked for Pavarotti. ~~~~_

_"What?"_

_"He was in a cage. It's not like he could get away." Despite Kurt’s best intentions, he can still do harm. Being in a cage didn’t keep Pavarotti as safe as he was led to believe, and Kurt promised to take care of him._

_Blaine squeezes his hand. "He was singing to you. I don't think he wanted to get away. Maybe something else was wrong. You can’t blame yourself.”_

Kurt forms lumps in his pillow from how hard he grips it. It still doesn’t form a person.

Blaine shows Kurt pictures of his Nightbird costume over Christmas when Blaine wants Kurt to laugh. Blaine is all smiles and cheer even though they are both struggling with how to be around each other, how to navigate both their grief.

Kurt doesn’t laugh, but he does crack a smile.

Burt has gone to bed and they should sleep too, but they can’t resist each other. Kurt fits himself under the arm Blaine rests over the back of the couch. Kurt needs comfort. Blaine possibly does too. If Kurt perches just right, he can have Blaine’s warmth without his touch.

Blaine has joined clubs from the identity-based (Asian Student Union, the fledging GayLesbAll) to the bizarre (Apocalypse Preparedness) to the worrisome (Too Young to be Bitter), and he shows off the collection of memories Kurt would have normally heard about weeks ago. Kurt gravitates back to Nightbird. He flips from the pictures of Kittenboy to Nightbird and back. Blaine poses proudly for both pictures. His stance is stronger in the second of the two. Kurt wants to tell Blaine he’s more beautiful as Nightbird, even if his eyes look sadder, but it’s not his place to say.

“Who is Nightbird? Is he in the comics?” Kurt doesn’t care about comic books - his eyes glaze over as surely as talk about football – so Blaine has possibly told him before, but Blaine’s voice is soothing and Kurt realizes how much he misses Blaine now that Blaine is close by. He will listen to whatever Blaine wants to talk about as long as it’s not love or cancer.

“Robin becomes Nightwing in the comic books when he can’t be a sidekick anymore. I got tired of Superhero Sidekick club, and even if there wasn’t the whole copyright infringement, I wanted a character that was all mine, so Kittenboy became Nightbird.”

Kurt edges closer, bumps against Blaine, and retreats back to just barely not touching. It’s such a delicate balance. He wishes things were simple enough between them that he could just tuck into Blaine’s side like he used to. It used to be so easy to twine together like the lovebirds he told Blaine they should be, but he doesn’t want to risk any more harm to either of them until they’re strong enough to weather it. “What kind of bird is Nightbird?”

“It’s just a symbol, Kurt.” Blaine’s eyes twinkle. “You know he’s not actually a bird, right?”

“What symbol, then? Is he a crow whose superpower is tracking down shiny objects? Is he a raven for his super hair?” Kurt used to have permission to touch raven hair, hard-won from insecurities Kurt didn’t take seriously but Blaine did, and now lost again. Kurt diligently keeps his hands to himself.

Blaine is too earnest, as always. “Blackbird like the song.”

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly._ Kurt swallows. “Good superpower.”

Everything repeats, broken wings and all. New York offers more room to fly and more to be afraid of, making Kurt think more than once of Blaine’s well-meaning lecture that birds are better off in a cage than open air. Blaine flounders. Maybe Kurt is the poison this time, or he let it linger rather than clear the air. Blaine is so sensitive to whatever is not right in the air between them. Either way, Blaine flies back to his original sanctuary.

Everything repeats, including another chance to heal. Kurt runs to get to Blaine. Everything he passes along the way blurs. He has one singular focus.

Once again, Kurt kisses Blaine when words aren’t enough, but kissing isn’t enough either when there is so much he needs to let Blaine know somehow. He tries valiantly for both. The end result is garbled and half made up of contented noises between smacks of lips. “Love of my life” makes it out, as do variations of “I want you” and “please want me too.” Blaine nods like he understands and grins so hard he also struggles to let their lips meet for more than brief pecks. He holds onto Kurt with both hands.

The fluttering of Blaine’s heart reminds Kurt of an old memory. The brush of their noses seals it. They laugh at their rainbow-splashed surroundings Blaine is packing up and moving out of and say in unison, “Let’s get out of here.”

They bolt to the station wagon Blaine’s mom hasn’t sold on Blaine’s behalf yet. Blaine drives and Kurt massages feet sore from running in dress shoes. He doesn’t question Blaine where they’re going. He also makes no attempt to hide his giddy, toothy grin, and Blaine laughs every time he looks over and it’s still there.

“You’ve got that look again, you know.”

“I don’t want us to be like -” Kurt cuts himself off. Instead he says, “I love you” and he doesn’t give a damn if it’s too soon, it’s not like he _stopped_. He loves Blaine, so of course he looks satisfied.

Blaine says it back like it’s the easiest thing in the world, followed by, “It’s a nice look.”

“It’s not a nice sentiment.” It’s not what he wants. Swallow Blaine down, yes, pursue him, but never harm him.

“You look at me like you want me. I like that. I’ve _missed_ that.”

“I want more than a moment.”

Blaine looks at him quizzically.

“After the cat gets the canary, then what?” Kurt asks. Kurt has not worked to win Blaine back for just a moment.

“Maybe they go on adventures and play Parcheesi on rainy days. Maybe you’re happy as a cat who let the canary out of its cage so they could snuggle like all those pictures on the internet of cats and birds making friends.”

Kurt loves how Blaine’s adorably optimistic mind works. “No one else thinks that.” ~~~~

“Good thing you don’t care what anyone else thinks.” Blaine grins toward the open road. “I like they way you look at me. We can describe it however you want. Maybe you look pleased as punch.”

Kurt shakes his head. He’s not even sure what that means.

“Tickled pink?” With a wicked grin Blaine tries out, “Happy as a pig in shit.”

“That’s not better!”

“It’s amazing!” Blaine laughs right back. Blaine has a look when he gets what he wants too. He repeats more softly, “ _Amazing_.”

Kurt echoes him.

They end up at Dalton under the tree that shades Pavarotti’s grave, back where they began but not as they once were. Back in the place where, for good or bad, has always helped Blaine escape the overwhelming outside world. Kurt takes it as a positive sign that he has been invited back in. They find their footing, shaky-limbed and fumbling. Kurt trips over a root but catches himself. Blaine offers Kurt a hand anyway.

“I’m not that fragile, you know,” Blaine says. It’s not a defensive observation. Blaine’s eyes shine bright enough that Kurt struggles to look into them and struggles even harder to look away. He glows even as fall approaches winter.

“I know you’re not.” Still, Blaine’s infamous bird-snuggling internet cats still know to be gentle, and Kurt has been told he has claws more than once. Kurt knows he can hurt Blaine. Blaine can hurt him. Blaine is also something he wants to his core. He knows now more than ever.

Over the frosty ground, Blaine spreads out a picnic blanket for them to nestle together. The wind ruffles his raven curls like an affectionate friend. “I applied to NYU. And a few other places. One in LA, some here… some in New York. I’m seeing a therapist. You don’t have to worry about me. At least not excessively.”

Between cages and broken wings, Blaine still flourishes. And, as demonstrated in the quieter moments of the car ride to Dalton, he still sings. Kurt marvels at Blaine’s ability to keep trying again. Blaine has rebuilt himself so many times since he was the boy Kurt stopped on the stairs.

Kurt reaches for Blaine and brings the ratio of talking to kissing back into balance. Blaine’s bones don’t seem so fragile when Kurt can feel skin and blood thrumming under his touch. Kurt checks everywhere to be sure. Blaine welcomes every advance and proffers his own warm touches. Even while splayed over a thin blanket that takes on the chill of the ground, he’s liable to overheat. It’s not a field of lilacs – it’s not a field of anything at the moment – but they lie together surrounded by potential.

Dalton burns on their honeymoon.

They return to ashes. Blaine insists they return. He wants to see for himself. Blaine reaches out but doesn’t touch the damage as he stands among it.

Kurt follows Blaine gingerly. He worries about the air they breathe. It still smells like smoke. They aren’t supposed to go in.

“I never liked that wallpaper. Maybe this time they’ll pick one that doesn’t look like Rome has already fallen.” It’s optimism, not gallows humor, that has Blaine smiling sadly through his quip. He can focus on how it’s burnt to the ground, or on how it’s going to be rebuilt.

Kurt expects them to go back, but Blaine keeps venturing further inside. Fire has licked at the banister and scorched the walls, but the spiral staircase still stands, rising from the ashes. Blaine nudges debris aside with a dress shoe. It clears away to marble underneath.

Blaine smiles at the marble like it’s a personal victory. Already he is not inconsolable. Even when his sanctuary burns to the ground, Blaine is ready to take what they have and transform it into something new. On the steps where they met and Blaine asked Kurt for forever, Blaine turns back toward Kurt on the landing below, their stances in reverse of a memory that will never fade. Kurt looks up at Blaine in sudden wonder.

“What’s with the smile?” Blaine asks with his own shyly taking shape.

“We met right here.” Kurt thumbs at his ring. He's still getting used to the weight and the promise of it. Blaine’s own glints in the light. “I think I knew my life was about to change. And then keep changing.”

Maybe it’s Dalton’s effect on Kurt that reminds him of all the metaphors. Blaine as a warbler, part of a flock with the name that sticks long after it stops being true. Blaine as a canary, brightly hopping and fluttering, mimicking the sun and singing for the joy of it even when he’s alone. Blaine as one half of a pair of insufferable lovebirds. Blaine as a blackbird, mending broken wings to fly again. And now, Blaine as a phoenix, rising out of the ashes of everything he’s been before.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods without hesitation. He holds out his hand for Kurt to take. “Even if it’s gone, we got each other out of all of this.”

Kurt grins with complete satisfaction.


End file.
